I Died Today
by Raven Silversea
Summary: Reborn can't keep his nose out of people's business. Especially if it involves one of his fellow Arcobaleno. Only this time, he's not sure he really wanted to know.
1. Chapter 1

"Just stop, I'm too tired for this shit right now," Skull says. His gloved hand trembles in the air to his right as he keeps his back towards the hitman. He stands in the center of the rather bare room, between Reborn and the window, facing out to the green lawn below.

How many times have I told him not to leave a clear line of sight into the room? Reborn wonders as he scowls at Skull's back. "Lackey?" he asks and sets the the tank lid he's holding on the light wood end table just inside the door.

"Don't call me that!" Skull jerks his head. Purple eyes flash over his shoulder for a breath before he settles back into his original position. "Not today," he says quieter.

Reborn looks the man up and down. Judging by the deep impressions in the cream carpet beneath his boots, Skull hasn't moved from that spot for some time- a sniper's dream. His black eyes sweep across the rest of the room- all light wood furniture that match the ones Reborn had replaced months ago. The only spots of color in the room are Skull's purple hair and the red octopus in the tank beside Reborn.

"Not today?" Reborn forces his voice to be calm. His hands clench into fists and unclench again. He looks down into the tank. Oodako waves his arms slowly at Reborn, and his eyes seem especially large as he looks at the hitman. Reborn leans down and runs a gentle finger down Oodako's body. "Why not today in particular? Why no protest yesterday? Or last week?" The last thirty years? Reborn draws away from Oodako and sets the lid of the tank back into place. He turns to face Skull, sliding his hands into the pockets of his black trousers.

Skull shakes his head, purple hair shifting from side to side.

Reborn bites back a sigh.

Skull's hand moves up to his face, and the very front of his hair stops moving. His shoulders hunch, his knees start to bend, and Skull seems to fall into the hands he wrapped in his hair.

Reborn blinks. Moving quickly, he grasps Skull's shoulders and follows the stuntman's slow progression to the ground. He looks down at the back of Skull's head- had Skull really been this small before the curse?- and asks in a hushed voice, "Skull, what's wrong?"

Skull takes a deep shuddering breath. "Why the fuck should I tell _you_?" He says through hitching breaths.

Reborn bites back his initial reaction and takes a moment to think. He's right, he realizes. Why should Skull tell him? Reborn doesn't know this man at all, and, if he's being honest with himself, he's been downright cruel to Skull over the years. Still, there's something so very wrong in the bareness of Skull's room and in the line of his shoulders. "What do you need me to do?"

"I don't suppose telling you to leave would work?"

Silence fills the air for a moment before Skull sighs wetly. "Figures." The stuntman straightens beneath Reborn's hands and shifts so that he's sitting rather than kneeling on the ground. After wiping his hands down his face, he loops his arms around the tops of his knees and weaves his fingers together loosely.

Reborn removes his hands from Skull's shoulders and sits beside him- one knee raised, the other resting on the floor as his leg loops under his raised knee. He rests a forearm on his knee, and his fedora falls forward just enough to shade his eyes. His shoulder brushes Skull's.

"I need you to pretend I'm not beneath you in every way," Skull says. Reborn carefully doesn't move; he doesn't want to break whatever spell is causing Skull to actually talk to him. "I need you to pretend that I'm worth your time, and I need you to _listen_ because I'm not saying this again." Skull's voice sounds strained and old and oh so _tired_.

Reborn nods silently. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Skull look at him with a considering scowl. A moment passes.

And then Skull tells him. He weaves a tale of literal magic, of witches and wizards, of a giant looking a little boy in the eye and saying, "You're a wizard, Harry." A tale of loyal friendships, of a girl with wild bushy hair and a love of knowledge, and of a redheaded boy with a knack for strategy. Skull paints a picture of a wide-eyed, trusting boy who was excited to explore the new world he found himself in and how the boy ended up having to fight for his life because the man who murdered his parents wasn't going to stop until that boy was dead as well.

Reborn turns his head towards Skull just enough to be able to watch the stuntman's face as he tells the story. He watches as Skull wistfully describes the ceiling of the Great Hall, pictures that moved, and how his wand felt in his hand- "The closest thing I can compare it to is how I've heard harmony described, Reborn." He continues to watch as Skull's eyes darken and his hands pick at the ends of his jacket sleeves. Skull tells him in low whispers of a boy and his camera, of twins separated by death, a mirror that shows your greatest desire, and the children he taught how to defend themselves because there was a _war_ and no one was _doing anything_ about it.

Then, Skull breathes in shakily. "It all ended, thirty-five years ago today," he says. "The Dark Lord attacked Hogwarts, attacked a school, attacked my _home_." And Reborn flinches at the pain in Skull's voice. Thirty-five years away from his territory, Reborn thinks, assumes, because a Cloud's first territory was _always_ their home. And if Skull had just had to defend it in a war, there was no way he left it willingly which explains the bareness of Skull's room. A Cloud needs some form of closure to accept a new territory after all, and it sounded like Skull didn't get that closure.

"My army was made of school children who had to teach themselves how to fight, even beyond what I had taught them," Skull continues. "There were maybe thirty adults, including the professors, fighting with us." Skull takes in a deep, shaking breath. "It was early in the morning when _he_ stopped his attack. _He_ told me to come to him. To sacrifice myself so they would live."

Cold runs down Reborn's spine. His hand spasms as if he could stop Skull from ending the story, could stop the boy Skull once was from doing whatever it took to protect his own.

"I walked into the forest, surrounded by the ghosts of my parents and godfather," Skull says slowly. "I looked him in the eyes and dropped my wand." Skull looks up at Reborn. "I _died_ thirty-five years ago today, and then," Skull pauses with a sardonic smile curling around his face, "I woke up."


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Thanks for being patient with me these past six-ish months, y'all! Harry decided to be chatty yet again and so there will be another chapter after this one- bonus points: it's written, just needs editing; I am still distractable however. Style might be a bit different compared to the first because I actually wrote the first chapter 3/4 years ago, and I like to think I've improved some over those years**

Reborn raps on Skull's door, slides his hands into his pockets, and watches the crack between the door and the floor. He's been rolling this idea around in his head for what feels like ages- alright, fine, he feels a bit guilty and wants to make up for it by offering to help Skull makeover his room, sue him- and now that Skull's back from wherever he ran off to, maybe he has a chance to do it. He sighs and shakes his head before looking up and rolling his shoulders back. Skull had every right to run and never return, still does really; he really shouldn't be mad at the man.

The door opens. Skull's usual broad grin is stretched across his face. His makeup's more caked on than usual, and his grin not quite so big or as steady. "What can the Great Skull-sama do for you, senpai?" His voice isn't nearly as loud or as chipper as it had been months ago. Reborn's eye twitches.

It occurs to him that Skull always got quieter from the last week or so of April to the end of May and then again around Halloween. It feels like a sucker punch to the gut that he didn't bother to question it before.

"Put some shoes on, lackey. We're going to the store." Reborn's brow creases as he silently curses. Teeth bite down on his tongue as Skull leans back behind the door, straightening his back and curling his lip. '_I need you to treat me like I'm not beneath you in every way_.'

"Viper just bought groceries, senpai," Skull says in a flat approximation of his usual loud protests, and Reborn resists the urge to shake the man until he was fixed. Until he started screaming and protesting and carrying on like normal.

Except that wouldn't be normal, some part of him says, because everything that Skull is is an act. This strange man before him is likely Skull being normal. This is who Skull is when he's not plastering on a face that's never heard of war.

He takes a deep breath and slides his fists back into his pockets. Skull raises an eyebrow, and doesn't that _burn_? It only shows how much he's fucked up that Skull appears surprised that his disobedience doesn't result in harsh words and purposefully missed attacks. "I was hoping," Reborn says slowly, biting out the words as if they pained him- and they _do_ because this shouldn't be this _hard_\- "you would join me." Skull's boots are covered with dried mud he notes absently. "I need a couple things from the hardware store."

Silence. Reborn doesn't move, nor does Skull. "Why?"

He looks up. Skull's eyes are narrowed, and he drums his gloved fingers on the door. Looking towards the room behind Skull, he says, "I assumed you would like the chance to get some paint, or perhaps new furniture. Honestly, lackey, you're the only one still using what came with the rooms." He turns away. "It's no skin off my back if you don't take the chance."

A moment passes. Another. The top of the stairs come ever closer, and Reborn begins to wonder if this is it. If Skull will really choose to leave because where else would he have been these last few weeks if not leaving the Carcassa which imploded just a few days ago? He's not attached; this isn't his home much less his territory, just look at the bareness of his room for God's sake!

"Now hang on, senpai!"

He stops, holds his breath.

"I didn't say I didn't want to come!" Skull almost slams into his back in his rush to catch up.

Reborn smirks. "Oh? So you are coming?" He starts walking again.

"Yes, you dolt!" Skull clomps down the stairs at Reborn's shoulder, chewing on his lip piercing. His eyes dart around as if looking for something or someone. Leaning into Reborn's shoulder, he says, "It would be nice to look at something other than white walls occasionally," under his breath.

Reborn sighs just a bit louder than normal. "You think? _Viper_ had their walls decorated within three hours."

Skull jerks back. Grabbing Reborn by a sleeve, he twists him against the car. "Listen, if you're doing this out of pity. Don't bother. I don't want it. You might as well 'fess up now, so I can be on my way." He backs away a step or two, hands clenched and trembling at his sides. He doesn't look at Reborn.

Reborn knows his part. This change is too new, too delicate, too sudden for heart-to-hearts. He's not entirely sure how to talk to the man in front of him either. He barely knows how to talk to his students if he's being honest with himself. He scoffs, "As if, lackey," instead of the half-thought words gathering on his tongue. Crosses his arms across his chest and tilts his head back exasperatedly instead of reaching out and clasping Skull's shoulder.

Skulls glares up into Reborn's eyes. Purple eyes cold and assessing. He nods and backs away with a sigh. "I have no idea why I'm doing this," he mutters, running a hand through his hair.

'Maybe because you want a place to call your own,' sits on the tip of his tongue, but Reborn doesn't say a word. He gets into the car and starts it up. At the traffic light down the street, he says, "Think of it as an apology for never noticing… and for how I acted." He doesn't look at Skull, but movement in the corner of his eye tells him that Skull looks at him.

"You weren't supposed to notice." Skull turns away again. "And it will take a lot more than a room makeover to make up for all the bullshit you did and enabled."

Reborn silently concedes the point. He'll just have to do better then.


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: I hereby declare this fic: Finished! Y'all can thank Harry Chatterbox Potter for this chapter being like the length of the first two chapters combined**

Reborn does try to do better; Skull will give him that. It reminds him of the strange dance between him and Dudley after the dementer incident where neither of them really knew how to treat the other once violence was off the table. Come to think of it, how is Dudley doing nowadays? Did he get married? Have a kid? If so, is the kid magical and how did dear old Aunt Petunia take it?

Skull stops that train of thought. That's not his life anymore.

Back to Reborn. Instead of shooting when Skull becomes too annoying, he stops no more than halfway through reaching for his gun or Leon, closes his eyes, and takes a loud breath. He clenches his hand into a fist on the table as he grits out a request for Skull to "Please. Shut. Up." An incredible improvement that never ceases to amaze Skull whenever he sees it, and he pokes and prods at Reborn just a bit to see how far the hitman's patience will last. Everyone else watches them like they aren't sure Reborn is Reborn and Skull is Skull.

Skull isn't watching Reborn for signs of polyjuice usage at all by the way. He's just counting how many cups of coffee he drinks in an hour to tease him with later.

Reborn's also started listening to Skull's ramblings and half-sarcastic ideas as the Vongola decimo continues to use his life-long favors to send them on the more dangerously impossible missions. Skull gives the kid credit for that. After being cursed for so long, none of them can return to the lives they once had. They're also all geniuses in their own rights… except maybe him, but he's an adrenaline junkie thanks to Quidditch… They'd all be beyond bored if they scrapped their identities in order to start all over again, and any run of the mill mission is just boring.

Can muggles claim a life debt? Or do Flames count as magic enough for the decimo to claim one? Hermione would know or at least know where to find the answer.

Reborn even steps in between Colonello and him on occasion. Colonello always looks so confused when he does. Skull's still holding back praise for that until Colonello's first instinct isn't to punch him. He barely remembers the few years where the soldier reacted to his dramatics with snapping words and the occasional finger jab to the chest. Of course that all changed when Reborn was hired for a mission with Colonello and him.

Skull wants to hold grudges. It'd be good for him, he thinks. Gryffindors weren't good at holding grudges; he'd noticed this over his Hogwarts years. Easily insulted honor, yes. Quick to drop the offense once their honor was satisfied just as easily though.

Holding grudges also saps you of the energy you need to fight. Who cares if Seamus made his life hell for a year when there was a war to fight?

Even so, part of him wants to reject everything Reborn's doing now. Curl his lip and laugh at how the hitman needed to hear the worst events of his life before treating him like a human being and not some dog shit he stepped in. Grab his stuff and run away from the pity, the handling like he's made of glass, the _changes_, just like he did before. He'd be well in his rights to after thirty years of abuse. He doesn't owe Reborn _anything_.

He was going to. He spent a couple weeks pulling out of the Carcassa, and if they happened to implode spectacularly after he did, well, he still has a saving people thing. Or at least a screwing over the bad guys thing. Then when he came back to get the few things he had stored in his room a the mansion, Reborn knocked on his door and offered to makeover his room.

Skull still isn't entirely sure why he agreed to it.

The walls took the entire weekend to paint dark purple and an additional two days to add cream and silver stars, pink and golden nebulas, and silver galaxy arms throughout. Skull could spend hours sitting on the floor with his chin on his knees just staring at the walls. There's something calming about seeing stars all around, almost as if he's in the center of the Milky Way looking out to the rest of the galaxy.

It'd be a waste to leave, he tells himself, especially after all that effort. Plus, the moonlight that reflects off the silver paint helps him fall asleep faster than he has in years.

Reborn also somehow wheedled the fact he preferred black furniture out of him during those days because the paint had barely dried before the hitman was pulling a dresser, desk, and bed into the room. "Do you have any knick-knacks? Decorations? Photographs?" Reborn had asked, hands in his pockets again.

Skull had shrugged and slid Oodako's tank back into its place to the right of the door. "Some. Why?"

"Put them up. Make it look like a home than a fancy guestroom."

Skull had snarled something about doing it later because he was tired of messing with his room and promptly shoved Reborn out the door. The hitman had left him alone after that.

It's been weeks since then. He still hasn't decorated. He can't bring himself to go through old pictures taken by a grinning boy and his camera, both long dead. He can't bring himself to claim this room, this place, as home when home has always been filled with moving pictures and suits of armor. Towering stone towers that fooled you into thinking you could touch the stars. A dark and endless forest rife with danger. Hermione's scolding, Neville's shy smiles, and Ron's snores.

They've all grown up, haven't they? Gotten married, had kids, made the world better. He looks into the mirror and sees almost no change. His cheeks are rounder, fuller, but the stubble's the same. No laugh lines, wrinkles, age spots, or gray hairs. He's in his fifties but still looks twenty.

His friends, their spouses and children and jobs and lives, are at his fingertips. There's a bag full of unopened, unreplied to letters in his closet. At some point while he was cursed, they stopped coming. He's never been sure how to feel about that. Did they forget about him? Did they give him up for dead? Did they think he forgot about them?

He still wants to grab his things and leave. Disappear into the night like he did thirty years ago when an auror mission went wrong and he messed up and they wouldn't stop treating him like he _was a bomb about to go off_, like _glass about to shatter_.

All while expecting him to act like he hadn't fought in a war and emerged victorious with scars when he was seventeen. It was suffocating, so he left.

Skull wishes he could turn back time and choose again.

There's a knock on his door, and Skull breathes. It feels like he had forgotten how for a time, but his lungs fill like normal. There's no doubt in his mind who's at the door. It has to be Reborn; it's always Reborn. No one else ever knocks on his door. Was it only a few months ago that Reborn didn't either?

"What do you want, Reborn?"

The door opens and then closes again. Skull doesn't look at Reborn. Reborn sits down beside him just like he did months ago. Their shoulders brush. "You haven't decorated."

_Why?_ Skull wants to scream. Fucking Reborn and his bloody fucking prying and need to know everything. Why can't he just leave well enough alone?

Reborn sighs. He shifts into a different position, leaning back onto a hand behind his back and tilting his fedora off his face to look at a high point on the wall. "This isn't home for you."

"Your point?"

A glimpse of black eyes in his peripheral before Reborn turns away again. "Do you want to go back?"

Time stops. His breath catches in his throat; blood roars in his ears. He swallows and blinks away tears. A shuddering breath and a handful of false starts, he finally says, "I can't. I want to, but I can't."

Reborn thankfully doesn't say anything else. There's an understanding between them, an understanding between all of the Arcobaleno. The curse stole thirty years from all of them. There's nothing left for them to return to even if they tried. What would they say? How could they explain? Are they even the same people they were before?

Skull de Mort is certainly not Harry Potter. He wasn't lying when he said Harry Potter died over thirty years ago. Even if he dared try, he'd be called a dark lord if he appeared in the Magical World not having aged a day.

Eventually, Reborn leaves. He clasps a hand to Skull's shoulder and gives a gentle squeeze. "Put some knickknacks or something up. It still looks like a fancy guestroom."

Skull snorts. Like that's going to help anything. Still, within a few days, he finds himself opening his closet and pulling out the first dusty cardboard box. One by one, he digs through them, crying over old photographs as their occupants wave at him from their paper borders. He sets the letters aside for now. Maybe one day he'll read them and unearth new regrets but not today.

He fills two shelves worth of his old textbooks and another with the various novels he's collected over the years. They started out as gifts for Hermione as he stumbled upon first editions occasionally. At some point, he started looking for himself, running his hands over the yellowed pages and whispering the words on nights he couldn't sleep.

Hogwarts pictures cover the top of his dresser while stills from his few stuntshows hang over Oodako's tank. He smiles as he hangs the stills. He still can't believe the Arcobaleno took his word for it; there's no way he was the greatest stuntman, then or now. How much could Luce truly see if she never saw through his lies?

He places his school trunk at the foot of his bed again, this time with the lid open. The silver invisibility cloak rests at the bottom. His Firebolt and photo album sit on top of it.

Skull dusts his hands off and props them on his hips. Something loosens in his chest, and he feels more at ease than he has since leaving Hogwarts behind. He closes his eyes, breathes in the scent of parchment that he may or may not be imagining, and listens to Oodako splash in his tank. When he opens his eyes, he's smiling. "Yeah," he nods, "this'll do."

The next time Reborn walks in, he pauses in the doorway. Skull leaps to his feet, stretches his arms out, and spins in place. "Well? What do you think of the Great Skull-sama's room?" he crows.

Skull swears Reborn's mouth twitches up into the faintest smile he's ever seen. The hitman looks to the heavens and heaves a theatric sigh. He picks his way across the room, muttering book titles under his breath, blinking at the firebolt, and guessing who's who in the pictures. Skull indulges him by confirming or denying his guesses. He's missed this. He's missed having someone take an interest in his life, even if it is someone who's as much of a dick as Reborn is.

But Reborn knew almost everyone in the pictures on the first guess which means he _listened_ for once. Skull's seen him drastically change his behavior and attitude towards him. Perhaps this new relationship will turn out just fine, he thinks as he watches Reborn slide his hands into his pockets.

He still hates that it took thirty years and a retelling of his life for Reborn to get a reality check.

Reborn turns to face Skull. His fedora's tilted back, and his face is neutral. His posture's loose, casual almost, but Skull knows how fast the man can move without ever seeming like a threat. "Will you tell the others?" the hitman asks.

Skull shrugs. "Shouldn't have told you to be honest. Statue of Secrecy and all that."

Reborn nods. Then he smirks and raises an eyebrow. "Your point?"

Skull snorts. Touche. He's too far off the straight and narrow to really care about the legality of things. Keeping his cards close to his chest on the other hand… "Depends on whether or not they knock on my door now, doesn't it?"

He probably should not have said it that way. Over the course of the next several missions, a different Arcobaleno is sent to fetch him each time instead of Reborn like usual. Skull rolls his eyes, says, "Surprise, I'm a wizard," and promptly goes down the hall with a bottle of hair dye for Reborn's shower, leaving whoever knocked on his door to stare at his room in shock.

Yes, if given the chance to turn back time, he would never have taken Checkerface's offer. Yes, he would have immediately ran back to England and the politics of the Magical World if it meant he could still have his friends. But as it stands, he supposes there are worse places he could call home.

**I don't think Skull owes Reborn anything more than a broken nose and the silent treatment. However, I also get the impression that Reborn intends to be more "tough love" than intentionally shitty and doesn't realize when he crosses a line because 1) it's the mafia and 2) everyone's too scared/intimidated by him to say anything (Another reason is that KHR, at least in the beginning, is a comedy and relies on over-the-top everything and part of the Reborn/Skull dynamic is a result of the genre)- None of that makes how he treats Skull okay. I also don't see Harry as someone to hold grudges- see Malfoy, Snape, Voldemort, literally most of Hogwarts every other year. The blaring exceptions are Bellatrix and possibly Umbridge off the top of my head. That's my reasoning for the two of them moving to a more amicable relationship in this fic when Reborn makes a point to change his behavior.**

**TLDR: Skull and Reborn's relationship is complicated in canon, and adding Harry to the mix makes it even more so**


End file.
